It's All Fire and Brimstone, Baby
by KaliTracer
Summary: When an unknown group come after Q, with every resource they have, James Bond will find that this mission, more than any other, has the potential to destroy his entire being and burn his entire world to ashes. *slash*
1. Chapter 1

It isn't really surprising that when the whole thing starts, James Bond is the first to be launched neck deep in the situation. A coincidence, maybe, but not surprising in the least.

The call had gone out for Bond to come in, for something mission related, at the ungodly time of 4:18 in the morning. He had just turned the corner, walking, his car in Q-branch for some fine-tuning, toward the side entrance of MI6 when he spotted Q coming from the other direction. He looked like he too had just rolled out of bed, trousers rumpled, more than likely the pair he had worn to work earlier. His hair more than a little wild, but his eyes were alert and he smiled when he saw Bond.

Q would reach the gate first, and Bond, not wanting to have to type his code in too, picked up his pace to make sure he caught it.

But they never reach the gate, a black car rounds the corner behind Q, tires screeching on the pavement. Q turns, his steps faltering. Bond, however, having years of training that screams instantly that no one should be rounding corners like that. He takes off into a sprint, as the car slows and two men jumps out.

Surprise catches Q off guard, but instinct kicks in when the first one grabs for him. Planting his back foot, Q swings at the attackers. The first man ducks, but he falls back a bit to avoid another. Both clad in black, with crude ski masks on, Bond can't make anything out, as he finds himself crashing in on the attack.

Tackling the second man, James rolls with the movement as they hit the ground; Bond springs back up onto his feet. He keeps an eye on Q, who lands a punch to the first man's side. The man grunts in pain, and stumbles back, but doesn't move to attack Q.

The second man seemed to not have the same hang ups about hitting back, and immediately started swinging at Bond. For a moment it was a blur of punches and kicks, but Bond knew it was only a matter of time before he would win. That was before James heard a distinct cry, and turned to see the first man twisting Q's arm up and around, popping it out of the socket in one move.

"Jean!" the first man called, seemingly to the man in the car. The back door swings open and the man pushes Q towards it.

"Bond!" Q shouts, good arm elbowing back and hitting the man square on the nose. The man cries out, cradling his nose as he lets go of Q.

With two swift jabs to the throat, the second man hit his knees, choking on his crushed airway. The gasps only fueling James' rage. He turns, ignoring the hobbling man who moves away from James and towards the black sedan.

The men seemed to sense their plan had failed and together jump into the back seat, speeding off before the door was closed. Drawing his gun, Bond lets off a string of bullets, breaking the headlights and the back window before it rounded the far corner and disappearing from sight.

Q, who had been standing a few feet away, staggers closer. Bond looks at him, a mask of indifference trying to cover the pain and fear that were all over the younger man's face.

"Are you-" Bond never got a chance to finish, because at that moment, Q's eyes closed and he began to collapse, falling forward. Instinct reacts and Bond manages to catch his Quartermaster before he hits the pathway. He has to heft Q up, to keep his grip; he's grateful that he hasn't caught the dark haired man on his dislocated shoulder.

Almost simultaneously, the gates burst open, four guards coming out with guns up, searching the area, before all four turn to look at the double 0, and the unconscious leader of Q-branch in his arms.

To say that Bond hated Medical, was like saying cats hated dogs or arachnophobics hated spiders. It was obvious, overstated and completely 1000% true.

Still it was nothing like saying that M hated when his agents were shot at and especially when their had been an attempted kidnapping of the Quartermaster.

"How the _hell_ does this sort of thing happen?" M demands, turning to look at Bond and Tanner, eyes dark and focused. Unlike Bond and Q, M is very much dressed like he was used to being awake in the middle of the night. His suit crisp and even, like he hadn't been just woken to the call of MI6 Quartermaster under attack.

Bond says nothing, watching with close eyes as two nurses set Q's shoulder back into place, while a doctor looks over the nasty gash across his left cheek, it looked like the attacker had gotten one good punch in.

"It seems there was a confusion among the guards, who were supposed to be right inside the gate. A call had come in that they were needed inside. By the time they realized it had been false, Q should have all ready been abducted," Tanner says, also the professionally dressed, though his tie did look a bit wrinkled. There were bags under his eyes, which spoke to Tanner probably having been awake for close to some amount of days at that point.

"Abducted," M sneered, looking over at Q, who sat quietly, still a bit in shock, as the nurse coaxed his arm into a sling.

"Who the fuck tries to abduct the MI6 Quartermaster?" M asks, specifically toward Bond.

"I have no idea sir," Bond replies, watching the hollowed look on Q's face, letting it fill him with anger. He had seen friends, colleagues, even lovers get hurt before. But there had always been some knowledge that MI6 was safe ground. A haven. Now twice in the span of two years it had been attacked; their haven violated. And this time, Bond thinks, he isn't losing another friend to someone who thought they could play with MI6.

"But I do intend to find out," he says, to M, whose steel gaze meets his own. Mallory nods, his eyes dark and glittering with the need to protect his people.

M takes two strides to the doctor, Doctor Bridges, Bond thinks, the one with no hair and that smells like peppermint and chocolate all the time. One of a very slim few who doesn't go into fits if Bond shows up bleeding, almost dead and holding a bottle of scotch. Dr. Bridge has wrapped up looking over Q, making notes on a chart about his conclusions.

Tanner stands, moving next to Bond. At first the agent doesn't acknowledge the move, finding himself too absorbed in watching the nurse inject Q with something to ease the pain from his shoulder. Q mumbles something trying, it seems, to get her to not give the shot. She just nods and mutters something back, sliding the needle into his arm with practiced ease. Q struggles for a moment, and then as it takes affect, his eyes begin to drift shut. They lay him back, covering him up with a blanket.

"He'd be in their hands if it wasn't for you," Tanner says, lowly, only loud enough for Bond to pick it up. "She'd be proud tonight, Bond."

Bond bristles at this, and shoots Tanner a look. The shorter man simply nods and turns to follow M out, who has gathered all he needs from the doctor.

"How will he be?" James speaks up as the Dr. Bridges moves to slip past him.

"Fine, he just needs sleep. The shock of it all will easier for him to handle once he wakes up," Bridge says, and smiles to Bond before heading away. The nurses leave too, with a small glance to Bond.

For a moment, he just looks at the Quartermaster, now soundly asleep. The gash stands out bright under the two butterfly strips, at least no stitches were needed. They had stripped Q from his outer jumper and shirt, leaving him in an undershirt. It does little to hide the skinny nature of the man before 007, and for a moment, he supposes, yes, M would have been proud, but just like Mallory, she would be raising hell at the audacity of someone thinking they could take the Quartermaster. And now, no matter what, Bond knows he will carry on in the same manner.

And not at all for the tightness in his gut at the thought of losing Q.

Eve Moneypenny finds him, by 5:25 a.m., as he goes over the footage from the fight. She, like M, is dressed like she has just come in from her morning commute, one hand holding her morning coffee.

"So the rumors are true," she says, without preamble, "someone tried to take Q this morning."

"Tried being the operative word," Bond says, watching again, as the men jump into the car's open door. On screen he draws his gun and fires off shots, but this time he focuses on Q who is glancing at the other end of the street, from where he had been coming from. The shots sound loud over the speakers, and there is the distant sound of glass breaking when his shots finally land.

"Hmm, yes, you did have splendid timing, why was that?" she asked, the question Bond hadn't been able to stop asking yet.

He hums thoughtfully, before rewinding the tape and watches the car come rounding around the corner again.

"Has M traced why we had been called in?" Bond asks, watching as the men jump out again, running straight at Q, who is frozen on screen, like he can't believe what is happening.

"You had been called in due to a mission in Dubai, but double-o three has been sent. M wants you on this. Q's call in was a fake, like the call for the guards," Eve watches as the assailant twists Q's arm around, flinching when she hears him cry out. "Bastards," she whispers.

"Jean!" the man is talking to the driver, Bond can see him clearly looking to the car. There is no response, the driver doesn't crack a window, just opens the back door.

"Bond!" Q's voice is terrified, Bond can hear it better this time. Fear. Deep instinctive fear of knowing someone is coming to get you. It twists at him, watching how close they got. And really it was luck that Q wasn't in that car, hadn't been carted off like a prize from a fair, to where ever they had gone.

The elbow jab lands and Bond's lips twitch in a half-smirk as he sees the man grab for his nose, even sees the blood dripping between his fingers. Q probably broke it. The attackers dive for the door, not glancing back at Q or Bond, just focused on getting the hell away.

Refocusing his gaze, Bond watches as he raises his gun again, taking steps toward the car to fire. Q is off to the side, staring down the road in the opposite direction, and then Bond sees Q flinch and start to stumble toward Bond.

"There was nothing else you could have done, Bond, why are you watching this?" Eve asks, rubbing her arm slightly, like she's felt a draft.

"Do you see this?" Bond asks, gesturing to the screen when he rewinds for the fifth time.

"What am I watching for?" she asks, leaning in closer.

"The men, they don't attack until I interfere," Bond comments, point to the man who has to duck to miss Q's first punch. The second has several moments to throw a punch, to knock Q out, to hurt Q in any way. Instead he seems to be trying to calming Q down, like he's a toddler who doesn't want to go take a nap.

Then Bond tackles the second, and Q lands a punch. The attacker in front of Bond moves to the offensive, but it takes several moments before the first is twisting Q's arm, popping his shoulder out of place. His cry cuts through harshly over the speakers.

"The first had plenty of time to knock Q out, and get him in the car. We weren't exactly fighting for our lives. It's like they had orders to not harm Q," Bond says, and looks up at Eve, who looks just as confused as he felt.

"If their main object had been to capture him, why would it matter if he's scratched up?" Eve asks, voice edged with seriousness.

"They wouldn't care. I don't think this is their last planned attack" Bond says, "I think someone is coming for our Quartermaster, for keeps."


	2. Chapter 2

PLEASE READ THIS!

Chapter has some angst. Also, + all the internet for the soul who comments with the name of person I have as one of Q's ex-lovers. I think it's obvious but only if you watch the show he's from.

Oh! Thoughts on this becoming bondlock?! As I edit this one and write the next fic in this series there is an opening for Mycroft and Sherlock to come in if that something you guys want! I need opinions though!

PLEASE READ THIS!

It's almost noon, when Q manages to wake up again. His brain pounds away at the inside of his skull and his shoulder feels like someone tried to rip it off, and for one moment, he isn't sure where the hell he is. Then it all comes back to him, and he sits up, "_bugger_," falling from his lips.

"Oh good, you're awake," Bond says, sitting in a chair beside the bed.

Q doesn't need his glasses to note the look of seriousness in Bond's posture. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Seven hours or so," Bond replies, and Q swears again, though internally this time.

"Have we found out anything?" he asks, and ducks his head to find his glasses. He moves his right arm before the screaming pain in his shoulder makes him remember that he'll have to lead with his left.

"The car was found, abandoned only a few miles from here, not much to go on. The two men who attacked us were dead, shot in the head," Bond says, in a tone that show no sympathy.

"Well that's that then," Q says, nodding once his glasses are on and he can see properly again.

"We think the driver, Jean, got away in a different vehicle," Bond says, flipping through the file.

"Why kill the men then?" Q asks, pulling his shirt from the table, pretending to not notice the few smatterings of blood on its once pristine white surface. He doesn't even look for his sweater, he's sure that since it took the most of whatever blood had come from the attacker, it was being analyzed.

"More than likely they weren't competent enough to follow orders and complete their mission, so whoever hired them got rid of them," James says, shifting in his seat. "You wouldn't have any idea who that might be, do you?"

"Yes, double-o seven, I always keep a list of people who want to abduct me and use me for their nefarious purposes," Q says, blandly.

"No, I have the list," Bond states, with a smirk, "I was hoping you might be able to add anything or narrow it down."

Looking over, Q does see a list of names and organizations that Bond is looking through, a small smile on his lips.

"And boy you are popular," 007 grins at Q, who fights the urge to roll his eyes.

"Jealous, Mr. Bond? Though I guess, you weren't always the popular agent you are now. I heard once M offered two-hundred thousand pounds to the Americans to take you off her hands," Q says, returning the smile.

Bond leans closer, just close enough for Q to suddenly feel a bit lost in those blue eyes. James' smile grows.

"It was five-hundred thousand, and it was to French intelligence. They refused on the grounds that I would probably sleep with all their female operatives and cause an internal war," Bond's mouth sinfully smug as he leans back again.

Q laughs, leaning his head back, good arm going to his stomach. His laugh solid and uplifting, almost healing in a way, Bond thinks, because it feels so good to have caused such a reaction. Especially considering the arsed up situation they were in.

When Q stops, he's still trying to get his shirt back on, a smile lightening his features. The sling is considerably more challenging than it seemed. He turns as he moves to get the shirt around him. Bond stands, moving the file to the bed and carefully pulls the shirt over the purple and blue bruised skin. This move draws him far too close to Q, Bond can suddenly smell him, the lingering smell of dried sweat and sleep, plus a deeper scent of Q's body. It isn't off-putting like James would have figured. Contrary, he finds himself leaning forward, inhaling again through his nose trying to place why it is so enticing.

"Thank you," Q says, interrupting James' thoughts, causing him to jerk away.

Somehow knowing that something is off, Q twists to look at Bond, green eyes looking up at him questioningly.

There isn't anything for Bond to say, so he picks up the file, clearing his throat awkwardly. His stomach clenches painfully, and for some reason Bond has the instinct to run away. Which is simply ridiculous, so instead he flips through a few pages, and focuses back on the problem of Q being the target of kidnappers.

"Have you had any stalkers or any other interested parties recently?" Bond asks, eyes looking at the list in his hands, but not reading any of the names.

"No, of course not," Q says and then rubs his forehead, "Christ, I haven't any contact with someone outside of MI6 besides the coffee shop clerk around the corner in the last four months!" He pauses, then realizing what he's said, blushes a bright pink.

"I didn't- not like-That's _not_ what I meant," Q says firmly, and can't help but shake his head at Bond's growing smirk.

"Since you're thinking of it, girlfriend? Boyfriend?" Bond asks, "Ex-CIA lovers?" That last one only pure speculation that Bond had heard in passing that Q had been sleeping with a CIA agent in the past. He isn't sure why it comes out of his mouth, but he's just glad it didn't sound too peculiar.

"No current boyfriend, and that particular lover you are inquiring about lives in Washington D.C. and I hardly think he's equipped to come across the pond to kidnap me," Q says, irritation clear in his voice.

"Not the type to hire someone to do his dirty work?" Bond asks, not thinking about how pleased he is to hear that Q is single.

"No, he's more than capable of getting his hands dirty, but he's currently head of the Technical Operations Department in the Domestic Protection Division. I think he's a bit busy to be coming here for something as pointless as trying to kidnap me," Q levels his gaze at Bond, deeply unamused.

"And no other exes that you can think that would kidnap you? It hasn't been made clear yet that this is an organization behind the attackers," James frowns slightly, when he sees Q tense up.

"I can't really thi-" Q cuts off when the door to Medical bursts open and a tall, dark haired man comes striding in, wearing black trousers and white t-shirt half covered in what appeared to be oil.

"Q?..._Q_!" he calls, searching the room with his green eyes.

"Luca," Q says, swinging his legs out over the left side of the bed, as Bond hovers on the right, and shifts forward to stand.

"Bloody hell, Q, look at you. Christ, I hope you at least threw a hit," Luca says, one hand coming to cup the cheek with the butterfly bandages.

"I'm fine. Double-0 seven was there," Q says, tucking the shirt firmly around the sling.

Luca's eyes glance up to Bond's, as though just realizing he was there. He appraises James' appearance before nodding.

"Bond," he says, in greeting.

"Caldwell," 007 returns.

"What's being done to prevent this from happening again? Have we any leads?" Luca asks, eyes flickering to the file in Bond's hands.

"I wasn't aware M was bringing you in on this," James says, not at all caring how petty it sounds. He could have sworn Q just told him that he was not involved with-

"He doesn't have to bring me in on anything. Q is my Quartermaster too, Bond. It's everyone's concern what happens," Luca says, eyes narrowing at his fellow double-0.

"Really, it is touching that you feel the need to come and check on the Quartermaster, but I don't think it is necessary to bring anyone else in on-"

"Look, mate, I don't give a shit if you do think that you are God's gift to women, I will-"

"Oh that's rich, I'm not the one that goes around calling himself '_double-0 sex_' all the time, you really are the arse-"

"Oi! Both of you shut it!" Q shouts, thumping Luca on the chest with his good arm. "You can argue like school children later. For pity's sake, could the two of you be professional for one bloody minute?"

Shock settles over them, and probably the room at large to witness two double-0 agents being scolded like toddlers by a man barely clothed and several inches shorter than either man.

"Right," Luca huffs, and then turns his attention back to Q. "_Are you all right?"_ he asks pointedly.

"I'm fine, Luca. Thank you for coming by," the Quartermaster smiles fondly for a moment. He notices some oil is now on his sleeve and sighs. "Shouldn't you be reporting in for a debrief?"

"Perhaps I should be," he replies, with a smirk. "This took precedence, besides I couldn't very well leave you in the capable hands of this giant ar-"

"Enough! Luca, really?" a slight blush has settled on Q's cheeks, and that's all Bond can seem to focus on.

"Fine, be sure to call me if you need anything," Luca says, ducking in to kiss Q's cheek before turning and striding off.

Narrowing his eyes, Bond gazes at the going-to-be-dead-if-he-does-that-again agent as he leaves the Medical Section.

"Now for you," Q says, turning to face 007. "How the hell do I get out of here without alerting M?"

It didn't seem to matter that Q wanted to escape, because barely a moment later, M came in, somehow having been alerted that Q was awake.

"Q, it's good to see you awake," M states, smiling.

"Thank you sir," Q replies, his back stiffening. Bond shifts the folder in his hand and nods to Tanner who has filed in behind M.

"We were just reviewing the list, sir," Bond speaks up. He doesn't like the way Q has been tense since Caldwell left.

"Ah, and was there anything to add?" M looks interested in this.

"Nothing, sir," Q states. He shifts his arm, a tremble going through him as he does.

Before anyone can comment further on Q's list, Doctor Bridges appears at M's side as if summoned by his patient's pain.

"Ah, good. Come let's see you dear Q," Bridges says and gestures back to the bed. Q glances to Bond like this is a betrayal of some kind but does as he's told.

Bond and M step away as a nurse comes over to help Bridges get the shirt back off. Bridges immediately makes some mutters about needing post-reduction x-rays before M gets Bond's attention.

"Bond, I want you to take Q back to his house, there's nothing he can do here, and his shoulder could use the rest," M says, glancing back at Q.

"Sir?" Bond asks, because he's not normally given orders to be someone's bodyguard.

"I don't want to overrun Q with guards and agents trampling all over his flat, Bond. He needs rest and someone he trusts to be there during the night," M speaks softly, careful to keep their conversation away from the Quartermaster being given instructions on how to care for his shoulder.

"Wouldn't Caldwell be more...appropriate sir?" Bond hesitates to even suggest it, but if Q is dating 006 then he would be the better option.

"Double-0 six is running down leads, and I think, Q is more comfortable around you," M looks over at the younger man again, who is visibly restraining himself from strangling Dr. Bridges.

There is no point to argue the situation further, but Bond still bristles at the thought of having to be so close to Q now that he knows about him and Caldwell. A nurse takes Q to x-ray and Bond nods to M.

"Good man," M says, and turns to find Tanner, who is definitely not making eyes at another nurse before they both leave Medical.

Bond remains until Q returns from x-ray, looking more exhausted but finally cleared to leave. James isn't sure who is more relieved to be going but does hope they won't have to return anytime soon.

Q's flat is really more homely than Bond would have figured. His own flat was sparse in extras, and he preferred keeping extra ammo in the kitchen in case of emergencies than a garlic press or whatever it was that normal people kept.

Bond, also, assumed that Q would have kept his flat in a similar state. He wasn't sure why he made this assumption, mostly he thought that Q wouldn't have the time to gather so much, well, stuff.

The flat, for starters, was bigger than Bond would have figured too, but still seemed inviting, not overwhelming. The entrance was nice enough, not tipping James off to what was to come. A small wooden side table stands next to the door, where Q drops his keys off before throwing his scarf and coat on a hook. Bond hangs his own on the peg next to Q's. He adjusts the gun at his back, mentally double checking where ammo is located on his body.

There was a step up to main rooms and Bond almost startles when it isn't what he is expecting.

The main living area was pained a light green, though it was hard to tell, considering most of the wall is covered up with bookshelves. Books of all kinds are stacked haphazardly in piles that aren't being overrun by electronics. There appears to be no television, but a ridiculously large blue plush sofa and coffee table. The sofa has a blanket and looks well used. Bond shudders as he thinks of Q resting there.

"Hungry?" Q asks, from the kitchen.

"Famished," James replies, taking a step through a large dining room. It looks more like a workstation with a large area with computers and a rolling chair pushed away with a few books lounging in the seat of it.

He finds the Quartermaster flitting about the kitchen, filling mugs with sugar, though how he knew how Bond took his tea was a bit beyond the double 0. The sling is gone, flung in the bin by the opposing doorway.

"Your arm, Q," James says, frowning.

"It's fine," Q says, "I've had a dislocated shoulder before."

Bond huffs but says nothing else. He wants to rant and rave about how it is so far from fine that they couldn't take a train, plane or bus back to fine. He wants to deny all the feelings that have been stirring up in him since he first saw Q in that art museum and run from the flat. James wants to hunt the son of a bitch who hurt Q and wrap his hands around the bastard's throat. He wants to see the light go out in their eyes and never, ever, hear the sound of Q crying out in pain.

"You're not going to try and make me?" Q asks, after a moment of silence. He's been tense since earlier and Bond notices how he's holding himself stiffly.

"Will it change anything?" Bond asks. He asks sincerely because he's never been around Q when he's injured and while he's thought they had a tentative friendship it has never been here before.

"I doubt it," Q says, stubborn as ever. He does, however, sigh and go over to fish out the sling. Bond moves forward and helps him into it. They don't speak for a bit, James so grateful to see the sling back on him that he could kiss Q.

"You'll have to cut up the vegetables," Q states, pulling things out of his fridge. Bond helps, grateful for the directions the younger man gives because he really isn't known for his cooking skills.

Q, however as the source of endless shock that evening, makes some sort of sauce with small cut up veggies and poured it, with help, over some pasta. Bond was hesitant for a second until he got a good inhale of the smell and dove into his with vigor. James has trouble recalling the last time someone cooked him a meal, and empties his plate.

His Quartermaster puts away his fair share, drinking another cup of Earl Grey with his dinner. Q had given Bond a glass of white wine, the same they had put in the sauce with his own dinner. Bond couldn't imagine drinking tea with the fabulous meal, but found it rather endearing to watch Q drink from a union jack mug.

They talk very little beyond the weather and some mild interoffice gossip. Mostly about 003-an agent named Beltrane (who had bungled a mission and nearly been killed) and about whether they would ever move from the bunker (it seemed likely in the new year).

The dishes, Q insists, can get put off til morning. He relays the time he will be up and moving around to get ready for work. They have a brief argument about whether Q should be even going to work, which is lost due to the pointlessness of arguing with a man who is as stubborn as a mule. Neither will voice this thought they both share.

Q has put away the leftovers and moved the dishes to his sink, minus the two mugs Bond gathers up.

"Goodnight, Bond," Q states, nodding as he assesses the room before turning towards the doorway.

"Goodnight, Q," Bond says, watching as Q pauses in the doorway.

"Alex," Q says, teeth tugging at his bottom lip. "My name is Alex. I figure if you continue saving my life, you have the right to know."

Bond nods, not finding anything to say in return. 'You can call me James?' No, that sounded too presumptuous and he wasn't sure if he how he would react if Q-_Alex_ actually said his first name. By the time these thoughts filter through, Alex has nodded back and then slipped out of the kitchen, going toward his bedroom.

Alone in the fluorescent lighted kitchen, still holding the union jack mug, Bond can only stare at the empty doorway and think how badly he wants to go after Q.


	3. Chapter 3

Bond wished he had had actually slept during the night as he watched the sunrise illuminate the sky in lovely shades of orange and red. Every time he had tried to close his eyes Q was there, in his mind, screaming his name in pain. If James had been more self-reflective he may have wondered why of all people he had seen injured Q-no Alex was haunting him the most.

Instead, he pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind and tried to focus on getting through the day. They would need to really start eliminating people off the suspects list if they were to ever get to the bottom of the mystery of who wanted to kidnap the dear Quartermaster.

It was barely half six when Q came stumbling downstairs, hair even in more disarray as he narrowed his eyes on the kettle and bypassed Bond all together.

"Morning," Bond greeted. He had cleaned up from the night before, and straightened what he could. It had been a surprisingly long night and of course Q had no television…well, at least a working one.

"Mprhghaph," Q muttered. He flapped his hand in Bond's direction, head bent forward as he peered at the kettle in contempt. Bond smiled as he noticed Q's lack of glasses as he fumbled to get the damn thing going.

"How about I fix the tea this morning?" Bond offers, his hand itches to reach out and run down Q's back, to feel the fabric of his shirt to smooth the untamable creases that came from Q's sleeping in it. His pajama pants hung low on his hips as Q turned there was a peek of pale hipbones and Bond forced his eyes up.

"Grey," Q says, turning to nearly stumble over his own trashcan before making his way back out of the kitchen.

Chuckling, Bond turns back to kettle and gets it started. He wondered if Q was ever coherent first thing in the morning. Helpfully, his brain supplied the possibility that Caldwell might know. After that all thoughts of the domestic, cozy Q he had witness were tainted by the thoughts of 006 wandering around getting Alex tea in the morning.

He scowls at the kettle and spends the rest of the morning trying to put out even more thoughts than before.

By the time they made it to Headquarters, Q finally managed to become something resembling a normal human. His shoulder was still swollen, even though he tried to play it off as nothing. The sling was on, but Bond figured it was possibly going to be 'misplaced' by the end of the day.

They separated once they were inside. Q needing to go to Q-branch and Bond needing to report to M. Q spared a glance to Bond as he was jogging up the stairs, but neither said anything. Bond opened his mouth to tell Q to have a good day, but the words died when he saw 006 jog over to greet Q and see how he was.

By the time Q had a chance to look back at the steps, he finds them empty.

"Sir," Bond greets M as he steps into the office. Eve Moneypenny had been shockingly quiet when he exited the lift. James hoped that it wasn't a pending omen of bad news.

"Bond, good. We have some news," M says, gesturing to Tanner. The other man nods in greeting and looks like he managed to get some rest the night prior and change his clothes. Bond returns the nod.

"The bodies were hard to identify because of the burnt state of them, but we managed some DNA from the pair," Tanner clicks on his computer and two faces pop up.

The first, on the left, has blond hair and brown eyes. His nose has a crooked quality that tells Bond it has been broken several times in the past. His friend on the right has more refined features. His brown hair is short and stylish, and his face lacks any scars or disfigurements that can come from years of fighting.

"The first is Markov Fisher," Tanner has enlarged the blond's face on the screen. "He's former KGB turned assassin that has been doing the odd job here and there for several organized crime families. He was believed to be dead all ready from a raid early this year."

Clicking around the brown haired man comes up on the screen. "This is Antoine Ludvick. He used to work in the FBI before leaving the Bureau during a large case against a crime family operating in the States and in Russia. Of course, he took several key pieces of evidence against the family in question and has been working with them. They have been known to work together." Tanner glanced to M, who had been standing back during the report.

"We don't think the family they work for has anything to do with this kidnapping," M says, sighing.

Internally, Bond curses. Of course nothing could be that easy.

"In fact, we believe they were loaned out to some other organization or family to act as expendable muscle for the kidnapping. Neither have any real connections to other kidnappings, mostly they have been suspected and convicted of drug distribution and weapons trafficking. They may have been used to get the families close to some one else who used Ludvick and Fisher as a first attempt to get Q," M rubbed his forehead.

"Meaning they will try again," Bond says. "And if they killed them after only one attempt they must have a different plan for the second."

M inclines his head in agreement. None of them mentioned that they had no clue what that plan might be.

M, understandably, assigns Bond to shadow Q the rest of the day. He states that Caldwell is still tracing down and crossing names off the suspect list. He wanted James to be right with Q in case there was another attempt. The way that M didn't suggest handing off the assignment to anyone spoke volumes to how serious M was taking the threat. He wasn't trusting anyone beyond the double-O's with Q's safety.

So, Bond went down Q-branch, hovering around Q as he worked frantically out in the main area with his minions. As James suspected the sling had disappeared in his absence.

"Bond," Q says, when he finally catches sight of him coming in.

"M thought I would stay out of trouble down here while I have all this free time," Bond says, glancing around the room. Q nods, and does the same sweep. Neither of them know who might be listening.

"Well I suppose it won't be too much hardship to have someone else to fetch me tea and crisps," Q says, lips quirking into a small smirk. Bond chuckles and grins at Q's slight blush around his ears.

"I live to serve," Bond says, half-bowing to Q, as he tries to not think about where else Q's blush might show up.

Q takes him to the small, attached break room through a side door at the back of the room next to the exit to the main cubicles, where other agents are working away.

When Q starts babbling about how Bond doesn't have to really get him tea and crisps, Bond thinks that spending the day forced to follow Q-no Alex around with his lovely blush might not be such a horrible thing after all. Besides, what was the likelihood there would be another attempt today?


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing that Bond notices is a guard walking into the far door Q-branch. It wasn't necessarily strange for them to be inside the building, but down in the cells, not usually on Q-branch level. The guard walks around the back, keeping his distance from them, but Bond can all ready feel him casing the room.

He shifts his stance as he sees two plain-clothes agents also heading toward the Q-branch door. A man and woman. Her hair brown hair is pulled fashionably up, and his suit is nicer than Bond expects to see from someone not a double-O.

It wasn't strange, except the little hairs on the back of 007's neck were standing up. The ones that alerted him to when danger was near.

Then he watches them fall in step together, both being too casual to actually be casual. They enter together, pausing just inside the door as it closes.

Unconsciously he puts a hand on the small of Q's back, as the second one pulls something out and attaches it to the door. Even from across the room Bond can hear a distinct beep of something happening.

The first agent looks to the guard, and gives the slightest of nods. Adrenaline pumps viciously into Bond's blood stream, and he draws his gun.

"Everyone down!" he shouts and shoves Q to the floor, almost landing on top of him when he drops too.

Almost instantly, gunfire erupts. People scream, some diving for the ground like Bond had said, others frozen, unsure what was happening.

Raising himself, Bond lets off three shots, and swears when he sees them make contact with the body armor on the guard's chest.

"What the _hell_ is going on?" Q demands, when Bond ducks down behind the desk again.

"Looks like they've come in with the strong tactic to get you," Bond says, glancing over at the desks in between his clear shot.

"They can't possibly think they can escape from this room," Q says, shaking his head. "They're insane. Agents are right outside the doors!"

Getting back up, Bond lets off shot after shot, some towards the duo stuck by the door, some to the guard stuck at the opposite back corner. When he drops back down, he notes the agents at the door, beating away at the bullet-proof glass. One is on the phone, talking rapidly to someone, but he doesn't hold out hope for them to come to the rescue.

"The door is locked, Q. They've got some kind of device on it," Bond says, getting his second clip out from his ankle strap and putting it on the desk. He doesn't need it yet, but knows he will.

The guard is advancing up the left (Bond's left) side of the room. A tech tries to stand and get away, but the guard shoots him down. 007 puts three bullets in the computer in front of the guard, who gets hit with a puff of smoke when it goes up and coughs, roughly pulling back.

Q is beside him, typing away frantically on the computer. He's not flinching when bullets sink into the wall behind them. Bond has no clue what he's doing, only that he probably shouldn't be doing it.

"I can't open the electronic locks, they've jammed the response pad on the door!" Q says, typing some more before he gets frustrated and beats his fist down on the keyboard. "Open you bastard!"

Bond swivels shooting at the man and woman at the door, who are firing right back, not even hesitating to take out two more techs that are trying to move out of range. Shots hit the back of Q's computer and James drags them both down as the computer also goes up.

"That blasted door isn't open yet!" Q shouts, green eyes frantically glancing around at the bullet holes in the large monitors on the wall, like he's just realizing there is a gunfight going on.

"Leave that to the agents! You stay down, understood?" Bond doesn't wait for a response, leveling up again, aiming for the duo, and managing to put a bullet in the woman's chest, who cries out and goes down.

It almost doesn't register for 007 because something goes tearing through the top of his shoulder, even though it feels like the whole bloody thing has been ripped off and he hits the ground.

For a moment, Bond struggles to catch his breath, as he finds himself staring up at the plain white tiled ceiling, pain racing up and down his left arm and shoulder. And _bloody fuck_ he hates getting shot. He can't sit up yet, everything a hum in his ears and he's forcing breath in and out of his mouth. He knows he needs to get up because they are still getting shot at and now there is no one to return fire, to protect Q. He needs to get up and get his gun up...Bond flinches as the sounds of gunfire starts, much closer than the men should be, and when he looks up he sees something that for a moment he struggles to comprehend.

Then all at once he realizes two things. His gun is no longer in his hand, and someone _is _returning fire to the men.

_Q_ has his gun, crouched up behind his monitor, arms resting on the top as he fires shot after shot at the man near the door. He ducks down, eyes focusing on the gun as they return fire. Q ejects the clip, smoothly, grabbing the second clip Bond had put on the desk and sliding it in like a professional. He pushes the release on the slider, before leveling himself up again, his sharp green eyes deadly focused out over the room as he defends them.

Suddenly, Bond finds the energy to move, reaching down and pulling his spare sidearm from his other ankle strap, and getting up on his feet again. He situates himself next to Q, arms over the computer tower as he begins firing at the guard, who takes several more to the chest.

The guard hits the wall from the force, and twists angling to turn towards the back of the room.

"Jean! Now!" he shouts, though it doesn't seem like he is talking to the other man in the room.

The door to Q's office slides open; a man is there, wearing a mask. He quickly assesses the situation, before disappearing into the office. Bond notes the blond hair and from the sliver of skin, Caucasian, before he slips out of sight. Before Bond can deal with that, he hears a loud _thud_ and looks up to see the agents outside the door with a battering ram.

Q and Bond move in tandem for several more seconds. They are running low on ammo, but the man and the guard seem to know it's getting pointless. When Q lands two shots to the man's leg, the guard makes a run for Q's office.

A downpour begins abruptly, the sprinklers responding to the smoke coming from several computers.

"Q, stay here," Bond says, struggling to stand, the pain in his shoulder trying to overcome the adrenaline in his system. Q's face is pink but his eyes are stern and cold as he glances up to give a brisk nod.

They part ways for a moment, Bond moving quickly towards the office door. He tries to not see the injured men and women around him, but he can hear them as he moves down the aisles. His heartbeat goes wild in his chest; Bond can feel it almost as well as he can feel the blood running down his chest and back, mixing with the water drenching him. He keeps his gaze narrowed in on the open door of Q's office. Getting close, he tucks his back against the wall and takes a steadying breath through his nose.

Swinging into the room, Bond scans it quickly but finds it empty. He sighs in disappointment, but turns instinctively when he feels movement at his back. His gun levels at Caldwell, who's armed and looking around into the room.

"Q?" He demands, eyes round with concern.

Bond gestures with his head toward the main room. He follows 006 back out into the chaos. The sprinklers are still going, but the door is open so agents and medics have come in to tend to the injured.

Caldwell makes haste to Q's side, who's standing near the middle of the room, gun in hand still, a bloody pool of water around his feet. He looks defeated; shoulders slumped as he surveys the room. Luca says something; the chaos is too loud for Bond to hear it, but Alex slumps against the double-O, accepting the comfort of having some place to rest safely for a moment. Even if Bond fears that it will only last the moment.


End file.
